by J. R. Mabry
“And then?” Marco asked, trying not to smile.
“Then we’re going to get a good night’s sleep.”
“Uh-huh…and then?”
“Then we’re going to train every officer you have in sigil removal, and we’re going to take Berkeley back.”
59
“Okay, so that was unexpected,” Mikael said, zipping up his pants and straightening his cassock.
“But overdue and pretty fucking wonderful,” Kat said, pulling him down by his cassock and planting a kiss on his lips. “We ought to have danger sex more often.”
“That sounds like a subject for a longer discernment,” Mikael said. “Maybe when we’re out of danger.”
“Wimp,” Kat said, zipping up her own pants.
“Still sexy,” Mikael added.
“Okay, what’s next?”
“A cigarette?”
Kat gave him a mock-glare. Uproarious laughter erupted from somewhere down the hall. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but they’re certainly having a good time.”
Mikael pulled out his mask. Kat grabbed it and stuffed it down her pants. “No,” she said with a firmness that brooked no dissent. He sighed.
“Should we just knock on the door?” Kat asked.
“Hmm…you know, if it’s a party, let’s just crash it. I’m guessing if we just walk right in like we’re supposed to be there, very few people will even notice.”
Kat shrugged. “I don’t have a better idea.”
Together they walked toward the noise and found themselves in front of apartment A2. “Just turn the knob and walk in?” Kat clarified.
“Yep.”
“It could be an orgy.”
“You really have sex on the brain, don’t you? Yeah, it could be an orgy, and that would be embarrassing.”
“Funny, though. Well, here goes nothing.” She turned the knob and the door swung open easily. Kat walked inside, followed closely by Mikael. He closed the door behind him. No one seemed to notice them entering. Kat stood still, trying to get her bearings, trying to process what she was seeing.
“Mikael,” she whispered. “What the fuck is this?”
The living room was large for a San Francisco apartment, but it was bisected by an elevated ramp that seemed to be made of gold. It sat on tables that were covered with cloth, complete with bunting. It was hard for Kat to make out the exact color of the cloth, as the room was bathed in colored lighting. A mirrored disco ball hung in the center of the room, projecting silvery flashes in every direction.
The room was filled with about twenty people, lined up on either side of the ramp. Are all of them men? she asked herself. No, there were a couple of women, she realized as her eyes adjusted, but they were definitely in the minority. Most of the revelers were middle aged, and most were in various stages of balding and corpulency. They were decked out, however, in their ritual finery—magickian’s robes and capes and even the occasional wizard’s hat straight out of the movies.
“I don’t understand,” Mikael whispered.
Just then the room began to chant “The Mange! The Mange! The Mange!”
Purderabo stood up and, grabbing a microphone that didn’t seem to actually be connected to anything, shouted, “My friends, I give you Abramalin the Mange!” Another of the revelers lifted a nearly hairless, scabby Italian Greyhound onto the ramp. It was shaking like a leaf and was dressed in an ornate robe with the sign of the sun and moon embroidered on the back. Grabbing a thin lead, the Greyhound’s owner walked him down the ramp to the cheers and howls of the crowd. Kat realized that the ramp was actually a catwalk.
“Is this a…fashion show? For what?” she whispered. “Dog magickians?”
The dog’s owner walked him back to the starting point. He took a bow, to great cheering and catcalls, and then he lifted the Greyhound to the floor.
All eyes turned to two men and a woman in matching chairs along one wall. After conferring, they held up a card bearing the number “7.” More cheering erupted, followed by calls for more beer.
Mikael tugged on Kat’s sleeve, and they moved away from the door to an open place where they could lean against a wall. No one seemed to even notice they were there.
Purderabo picked up the fake microphone and held up his hand until the noise died down to a low rumble. “The highest score all night! Splendid! Now, get ready everyone for John Peki-Dee and Edward Kelly!”
Two men lifted a pair of Pekingese onto the ramp. The tiny dogs were dressed in matching Elizabethan collars, and both had long white beards tied to their chins. As the assembly roared their approval, their owners walked them to the edge of the catwalk, then back again. The judges gave the pair a six.
Kat was still trying to figure out what they were witnessing when she saw Turpelo approach Purderabo and whisper in his ear. Purderabo’s eyebrows shot up and he looked around the room. Turpelo pointed directly at Kat and Mikael, and Purderabo followed his finger and scowled at the sight of them. Mikael waggled his fingers in their direction. Kat didn’t need to look at him to know he was given them his shit-eating grin.
Purderabo’s black look didn’t lift, but he carried on with his master of ceremonies duties nevertheless. “Just in from Adyar, Helena Puglova Blavatsky!” A small, nearly bald man in a buttoned collar lifted a pug onto the catwalk. Blavatsky’s tiny eyes looked like they were ready to bulge out of their sockets. A babushka shawl covered her shoulders and was pulled up over her wrinkled head. The crowd hooted and clapped, although the pug only received a four for her trouble.
“And now, beloved patrons of the canine and occult arts, we will take a half hour intermission, after which our show will continue.” He gave Kat and Mikael a dark look, then put the microphone down. Someone turned on some regular lights, although it was still pretty dim, and “Pictures of You” by The Cure began playing on a stereo.
“Shall I get you a drink?” Mikael asked.
“Why not?” Kat shrugged. “We might get tossed out, but until then, I’m having a good time. How about you?”
“I’d have come over to the City just for this, to tell you the truth,” Mikael’s eyes were goofily large, as if he were saying, This is crazy great.
Kat agreed and could only smile. At the same time, though, she was disappointed. She knew what Larch looked like, and she did not see him. Perhaps he was holed up in a bedroom, but she doubted it. There was simply too much noise and distraction in this place for anyone to work in Vision.
“You must be Blackfriars,” said a man about Kat’s own height and about twice her weight. He was wearing a pinstriped shirt, his cuffs flopping about madly as he moved his hands. He was also wearing suspenders, round glasses, and vintage two-tone sports shoes. Kat smiled at him. It was a great look. “Yes, that’s us.”
“I’m a real fan,” he said, shaking her hand. “Saw the whole Republican convention thing. I’ve even met Father Dylan on several occasions.”
Kat blinked. This guy is geeking out on meeting me, she thought, just because I’m a Blackfriar. “I’ll tell him you said hi. What was your name?”
“Lenny. Valiente.”
“I’m Kat Webber.”
“Oh my God, your brother is Randy!”
Ouch. Kat winced. She didn’t want to think about Randy right now. She didn’t want to think about his stupidity, his rudeness, or the fact that he was slowly fading into oblivion. “Yes, that’s my brother,” she managed.
“How is he?”
“Transparent.”
He cocked his head, not sure how to interpret that. “Is this your first time here?”
“Yes,” she held her hand out and received the plastic cup Mikael offered to her as he approached. “Lenny, this is my boyfriend Mikael.”
“Another Blackfriar. You honor us!”
“How nice!” Mikael said.
“How do you like the show?”
“It’s…full of surprises,” Kat said. “Do you have a dog in this…pony show?”
“Oh
, yes. My boyfriend has him over there.” He pointed across the catwalk to a man a little younger than he, but no taller or thinner. In his lap he held a Chinese Crested with a fake, droopy mustache. “And that’s our baby, Arthur Edward Waite.”
“A remarkable likeness,” Mikael said. Kat looked at him to see if he were kidding, but he appeared to be in earnest.
She wouldn’t know Arthur Edward Waite from Albert Einstein—whom it also kind of looked like—but it was a very cute dog. “Remarkable,” she said simply. “You know, I was hoping to see Larch here.”
“Oh he never shows his face since he took that place on Caselli.”
Kat shot Mikael a triumphant smile but hardly missed a beat. “That explains why we haven’t seen him at the Cloven Hoof.”
“Oh, he shows up there now and then. But he’s become such a recluse. I think his pride got wounded.”
“That’ll happen when you’re an overreaching asshole,” Mikael said.
Lenny snorted. “You got that right!” He looked around quickly, probably to make sure no Hawk and Serpent members heard.
“What did we miss?” Mikael asked.
“Oh, well see that Papillon over there?” he said, pointing to a black and white dog with long pointed ears, wearing a thin tie and goggles. “That’s Jack Parsons. He got a four. And back over there—,” he said, waving his hand at the far corner. “See the Norfolk Terrier with the thick round glasses? That’s Colin Wilson. He only got a three, unfortunately.” He leaned in and whispered, “Not a very good likeness, in my opinion.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed Colin Wilson, but it’s a fetching look,” Mikael commented.
“I wish you were here last month. There was a tie between Paracelsus—a Pomeranian in a red Swiss beret—and Gerald Gardener.”
“Really? Do tell.” Mikael’s face was glowing with pleasure.
“Gardner was a Bichon Frisé owned by my friend Dana. She’d shaved him so that his little white goatee was perfect. He has kennel cough this week, though. But he’s worth coming back for.”
Just then Purderabo slid up to them, his face full of menace. Turpelo was close behind. “Lenny,” Purderabo said.
“Carl,” Lenny smiled. “Great job tonight.”
“Would you give me a few minutes alone with the Blackfriars?”
“Oh. Sure thing!” He nodded at Kat and Mikael. “I’ll catch you two later.”
Kat waved at him as he crossed to the kitchen.
“Hey, asshole,” Mikael said, beaming a wide smile.
“Did you follow us?” Purderabo asked, narrowing his eyes.
Mikael leaned in, apparently just to get in Purderabo’s face. “What makes you think that?”
“I smell pussy breath,” Purderabo’s nostrils twitched. “Why do I smell pussy breath?”
Mikael straightened up, eyes wide. He looked at the ceiling. “I…have no idea…why that would be.”
Purderabo looked at Kat, then back at Mikael. Then back at Kat. “I think you’re following us.”
Kat punched him playfully in the arm. “C’mon Carl, Lenny invited us.”
“You know Lenny? Where do you know Lenny from?”
“From the Cloven Hoof, of course,” Kat said. “Dart league, Tuesday nights.”
Purderabo looked uncertain.
“We belong here as much as you do,” Mikael said. “We have lots of friends in the occult community, as you well know. Richard and Larch are friends, after all.”
Purderabo scowled and looked down. “They have been known to play chess now and then.” He looked at Turpelo, then back at Mikael. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Fortunately, you don’t need to. The only thing you need to do is get this party going again,” Mikael said, raising his glass. “I just met a fox terrier who’s a dead ringer for the Great Beast himself as a young man in that cute, silk cravat of his. Let’s get moving! I want to see him strut his stuff!”
60
Susan awoke to the sound of whispers and rustling. Slowly, awareness of where she was dawned on her. She was on the daybed in Dylan’s room at the hospital. Chicken was snuggled up to her belly, snoring softly. Susan opened one eye. Several nurses were reattaching lines and IV bags. “What’s happening?” Susan asked.
“Nothing to worry about,” the nurse said. It was Nurse Melissa, a young African-American woman with whom Susan had commiserated earlier about dieting. Susan liked her. “We’re taking him downstairs for some tests.”
“Now? It’s…what time is it?”
“It’s almost midnight. Honey, our labs are running twenty-four seven right now. We’ll have him back in a couple of hours. You and Chicken just sleep. We’ll wake you if anything happens.”
“Promise?” Susan asked, but she didn’t wait to hear the answer. She was already drifting off again.
61
Richard leaned against the cinderblock wall of the police station. It was late, and all of the children and most of the adults were asleep. Tobias was snoring and twitching at his side. Marco was propped up next to him, braiding something out of twine.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Richard asked.
“Macramé. It’s a hanger, for a planter.”
“Oh, yeah, I can see that. That would have been lovely in 1972.”
“I’m just trying to relax, man. You ought to try it sometime.”
Richard didn’t disagree. He’d known Marco a long time, and the magickian had him pegged.
“Kind of puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?” Marco asked.
“What does?”
“The fact that we could die tomorrow.”
Richard didn’t answer.
Marco continued. “I mean, shit man, it makes me wonder what the hell I’ve been doing with my life. If it was over tomorrow, would it have been worth the effort, you know?”
Richard looked at his fingers and noticed the dirt under his nails for the first time.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just…thinking.”
“What about?”
Richard didn’t answer directly. “For me it isn’t about whether it would have been worth the effort. It’s more…did I do it right?”
“Do what right?”
“You know. My life. Was I…faithful?”
“Faithful? Where’d you dig that word up from? Your grandma’s trunk in the attic?”
Richard smiled. “Still…it’s the only thing that haunts me. If I go down tomorrow, the only thought in my brain is going to be ‘Was I faithful?’”
“Faithful to what?”
“To God, of course. Did I do what I was supposed to do with my life? Did I make good use of the gifts I was given?”
“Sounds like you’re worried Daddy won’t be proud of you.”
Richard chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it, yeah.”
“He’s not worried about that,” Marco pointed at Tobias. The dog’s lips pulled back in a grimace while his legs twitched.
“Not at the moment, no,” Richard agreed. “But I wonder about the angel. I have this suspicion he’s kind of hiding out. And you gotta wonder what he’s hiding from, if not God.”
“I’m more interested in what Toby is dreaming about. I have this invention, back in the van. You hook it up to someone, you go into vision, and you can see what they’re dreaming. I gotta try it out on Toby.”
“My guess is you’ll see a lot of chasing rabbits, ripping their throats out, and mounds of white fluff pouring out of them.”
“White fluff?”
“I don’t think he’s ever killed a real rabbit. He probably thinks they’re just animate stuffed animals.”
Marco smiled.
“What about you?” Richard asked.
“What about me?”
“You said it puts things in perspective for you.”
“Yeah.” Marco tied a knot and unspooled another length of twine. He cut it with a pair of scissors and started braiding again. “It makes me realize…I don
’t know, man. I guess I just didn’t realize how alone I’ve been feeling. And today, it just…it hit me like a wrecking ball.”
“You do live a peripatetic lifestyle,” Richard pursed his lips.
“And I’ve enjoyed it. But lately I’m thinking maybe it’s time to settle down.”
“What brought this on?”
“Truth? It’s been brewing a long time before I got to the friary,” Marco admitted. “Then it really started to ache, like right here in my gut,” he pointed to his protruding tummy, “hanging out with you guys. Cooking for you all, after Brian left? That was so satisfying. And I did not see that coming. I love the family you all are. I love being a part of it. I guess I…I want that for myself, you know?”
Richard caught his eye and held it. “I do. It’s a wonderful thing. To belong to people, to have them belong to you.”
Marco sniffed. Richard couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Marco get emotional like this. “Yeah, man. I don’t know anything about you being faithful, motherfucker. But you’re sure as shit a lucky man.”
Richard didn’t know what to say. It was true. And he hadn’t known it was true until Marco said it. “I am,” he said finally. “I spend all this time being miserable, and that’s such bullshit, because I really am very, very lucky.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Marco said. He put two strands of twine in his mouth to hold them as he measured out one length, then another.
“You don’t have to start from scratch, you know,” Richard said. “We love you. You could join us.”
“And I love you guys, but…no. It wouldn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t live inside the same story as you do. That whole huge Christian drama you’ve got going on, you all inhabit it. It…defines your world. But that’s not my story. I love to visit you, but I always feel like I’ve wandered into someone else’s book while I’m there, like I’m living someone else’s life. It’s great, but I can’t live there.”
“I understand,” Richard said. “But you can borrow us any time you want.”
